


The Game Of You

by Cennis



Category: Kuroshitsuji
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cennis/pseuds/Cennis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel's back slid down the tree and Alois followed him, not relenting in his desperation to touch and feel and make up for all the missed time. His shirt was falling off his shoulders, exposing even more skin for the blond to attack – because that's what this was, a full-frontal attack and Ciel was losing, losing himself to it all and that simply wouldn't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game Of You

**Author's Note:**

> A giftfic for Bel.

The smell was unbearable.

"What do you think? Is it... him?"

No. It was Freddy Krueger. _Imbecile._

What was left of the body was strewn across the floor. Every step he took across the blood-drenched carpet made a _squelch!_ and his stomach turned. It wasn't the blood so much. He was used to blood. A cop with an aversion to blood was no good, as Aberline tossing his cookies outside proved. It was the sheer amount of blood that was sickening. The psychopath had made sure to coat the room. Ciel could imagine him, that shit-eating grin splitting his face in two as he drenched his hands and ran them over the floor and walls and _everything._ Art, he'd call it. An unholy mess, Ciel thought.

"You're disturbing the evidence," Ciel snapped as Arthur Randall made to shadow his steps, "Just... go hold back Aberline's hair, will you?"

Randall seemed to visibly inflate in indignation, getting ready to put on his Man Pants.

"Now you listen here, Inspector-"

" _Chief_ Inspector," Ciel couldn't help correcting, satisfied as Randall turned a lovely shade of puce. He was like a chameleon, the madder he got the more he blended in with the décor; in this case, blood and guts.

Teeth gritted, Randall continued, " _Chief Inspector,_ you may be the Commissioner's golden boy right now – and I assure you that is the only reason you've climbed the ranks so quickly – but I far outrank you in field experience. In a situation like this, you would do well to defer to me-"

"Oh, I don't object that you exceed me in experience, Sergeant. You've been with the Force for, what, twenty years?"

There was a hint of pride in the older man's eyes when he replied, "Twenty four this year."

"Twenty four years... well, certainly you've got the upper-hand on me, only two years on the job and still wet behind the ears."

"Exactly. So I ask that you respectfully take the back seat and let the professional handle this, Phantomhive. In theory, you may excel, but your book-learning won't do you much good right now."

"Mm. Clearly your experience has done you exceptionally well. I mean, twenty four years and still messing about in the Junior Leagues, outranked by someone at least thirty years younger..." If it were possible, Randall turned even redder. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stick with my book-learning."

Leaving the older man to splutter and curse, Ciel wandered further in to the room, trying to ignore the unpleasant gurgle beneath his feet. Absently, he wondered what colour the carpet had been before that person had decided on redecorating. Probably white; he always had loved the starkness of blood against a blank canvas.

Behind him, Randall stalked out of the front door, probably needing a moment to lick his wounds and take out his bad mood on unsuspecting Aberline.

_Finally._

Although antagonizing Randall was always an entertaining way to pass the time, Ciel hadn't merely been doing so for the sport. Now the man was gone and he was alone in the crime scene, at least until clean-up arrived, he finally had a chance to search for anything incriminating.

A single sapphire eye scanned the room, calculating.

There was not enough left of the body for anything to be amiss there. The body itself belonged to some faceless pencil-pusher from one of the thousands of offices in Central London, no connection to Ciel that he could work out. As with the past five bodies, it had been completely butchered – there was no sense of professionalism about this, no workmanship, making it clear that the murderer did not hold the calmness one would have if the act was premeditated. At least, not until the deed was done. Then they'd taken the time to play.

Ciel frowned. Not the body, then. Well, that was to be expected. It had been the body the past two times. That person wouldn't want to get predictable.

Venturing away from the corpse, Ciel snapped on the latex gloves he'd been carrying in his pocket, slipped his feet into the plastic shoe covers to avoid treading blood around, and begun rifling through the drawers of the nearest cabinet. The usual accumulation of crap was all he found; overdue bills, faded receipts, a dozen and one flyers for whatever Chinese restaurant was closest. He wasn't fooled, however. This guy was dead for a reason.

Flicking a quick glance towards the closed front door and hearing the reassuring sound of Aberline retching, Ciel skulked through the doorway and further into the house.

Whoever this man was, he was painfully mundane so far. Wallpaper more suited to an old people's home was peeling from the wall, yellowed with age, the only splash of genuine colour coming from the odd haphazardly hung photo. The kitchen was spotless, to an almost clinical degree, and Ciel quickly scanned through the cupboards. Nothing but old soup cans and instant noodles.

The two bedrooms revealed even less about the victim. This man either had no personality or he spent next to no time in this house.

Despite himself, Ciel was beginning to panic. Soon enough, Randall and, if he was done hacking up a lung, Aberline would be back in the house. It would be just his luck for one of them to find it before he did, whatever _it_ was this time around.

Nothing on the body, nothing in the kitchen, nor the bedrooms, bathrooms or lounge and – _oh._

The monitor glowed dully from the corner of the lounge, an out-of-sight figure floating through a pixelated maze. He darted across the room, the plastic encasing his feet rustling. The maze flickered away as he shifted the mouse, and he'd found it.

Clearly, that person was feeling a little creative today.

 _Christopher M. Nightly, 46, of South London, died Wednesday._  
He was born to the late Donald and Rita Nightly, Nov. 11, 1965, in Birkenhead, Merseyside. Christopher graduated from Wirral Grammar in 1981 and received a BA in English from the University of Yorkshire in 1987. He married the late Celia Smith in 1991, and they lived together in Liverpool, before relocating to London in 1995.  
Christopher was a high school English teacher until he retired in 2004 and was passionate about making a difference in the lives of his students. He did this in numerous ways, including but not limited to organising after-school study sessions in preparation for exams, fucking them five ways from Sunday during the veeery exclusive booster sessions, and killing his wife once she found out lest she tell and ruin those poor children's reputations.  
Christopher was a talented builder, and in his spare time loved nothing more than adding rooms to his home for children with no-where else to go. To this day, if you check the basement, you may see what's left of those lucky urchins.  
In lieu of flowers, the family is requesting that donations be made towards the cleaning bill for the carpet.  
A viewing will be held at 7 p.m. Friday at Green Family Funeral Home. Burial will be held at 1 p.m. Saturday at Oakland Cemetery. 

And to think, Ciel had been fairly sure that person couldn't even spell eulogy.

Grabbing the pen from his pocket, he peeled back the latex glove and scribbled the place and time onto the back of his hand. That done, he scanned the obituary for anything he may have missed, but found nothing more of substance.

He deleted it just as he distantly heard the front door click open.

" _Phantomhive! Got anything?"_

Pulling the glove back to cover the ink on his hand, he retreated to the front room, where a pissy Randall awaited him. Having got what he needed, Ciel had no intention of hanging about, pointing back over his shoulder as he passed through the front door.

"There's a rancid smell back there. Seems to be coming from the basement. I'd check that out if I were you."

۞

At twenty-one years old, Ciel Phantomhive was a formidable man. Bearing the name Phantomhive itself was enough of a warning to anyone who may try to cross him, but rather than the name make him, he had made the name what it was today. Some whispered behind his back, petty little people, bitter at his rise to success, that he was merely riding his Father's coattails.

Oh, there was no doubt that Vincent Phantomhive himself had been a man amongst men. Charming, sophisticated, able to command the entire squad on respect alone. But he had been weak, in the end. He must have been, otherwise he wouldn't be dead.

No. Of the two, Commissioner Michaelis much preferred the still-present Phantomhive.

As always, the man – though Sebastian couldn't help but think _boy_ when he saw him – did not knock as he strode in to his superior's office. There was never any preamble, no pleasantries, _how are you, lovely weather,_ it was always straight down to business.

"He's been at it again," Ciel huffed, sinking down into the armchair across from Sebastian. He made himself right at home, dangling his legs languidly over the armrest, scuffing his mud-caked shoes against the mahogany desk.

"...I just had this varnished," Sebastian sighed, looking to the offending feet with distaste.

Not surprisingly, Ciel continued as if he hadn't heard the other speak. "He's an idiot! It's just lucky that Aberline has such a big mouth or I may not have been able to intercept the goddamn message."

"Was it particularly incriminating?"

He pursed his lips.

"He didn't mention my name this time, a small mercy. Still, it's risky. Any more cases like this-"

"And you'll be the first I assign," Sebastian assured with a small smirk, which only grew when Ciel tossed a one-eyed glare his way.

"So you say, yet you continue to give the cases to Randall and his lackies. Having fun watching me run around, I presume, Sebastian." If his words had been physical, they'd have cut him into ribbons.

Sebastian adopted a look of hurt.

"You think this is my idea of fun?"

"I think you're just disappointed you couldn't see the corpse for yourself. You'd have been impressed." He hit the nail on the head there, but Sebastian wasn't about to tell him that. He resolved to go himself next time. He truly missed the active side of the job. Not to say he disliked the perks his current position entitled him, but there was really nothing like that first grisly murder scene on a Monday morning.

"So, what act of heroism has our little vigilante performed today?" Sebastian asked lightly, rising from his desk. Ciel didn't even look surprised when the man knelt beside his chair and busied himself with wiping the dirt from the smaller man's boots. The last thing Sebastian needed was Ciel taking his petulant mood out on his innocent – _and varnished –_ desk with his grubby little feet.

"Oh, the usual. Butchered a paedophile and wife-murderer. Looks like the guy was keeping his toys in the basement. That should keep Randall busy for a while."

"Busy enough to not notice you disappear in the middle of a case," Sebastian remarked, "What's the location?"

At that, Ciel scowled. Well, he scowled _more._ Scowling tended to be his default.

" _Oakland."_

Sebastian chuckled, looking up at Ciel's face. "Would you like me to come with you?"

Just as he expected, Ciel's cheeks reddened. "Honestly, Sebastian. I'm a big boy. I don't need you chaperoning me everywhere I go."

"But you have such a brilliant talent for getting yourself into trouble. Usually trouble you can't get yourself _out_ of. Besides, do you really want to handle him alone?" Satisfied that his desk was safe from the threat of muddy kicks, Sebastian walked back around to his chair, clicking his tongue as he went. Seemingly out of nowhere, a black and brown cat pattered across the carpet, leaping gracefully up onto Sebastian's lap.

Simultaneously, Ciel sneezed.

Sebastian smirked. "Bless you."

Ciel scowled. "Go to hell."

Well, wasn't that charming. That was exactly the reason Sebastian much preferred cats to people. Oh, they were arrogant little creatures, that much was true. However, they had such reason to be arrogant. Elegant, beautiful, with such faultless pride. So independent, unlike people. Always with that air of superiority –

"Shall I leave you and the cat alone, Sebastian?" Ciel snapped exasperatedly, rubbing at his watery eye. Honestly, the guy and his feline fetish was borderline criminal.

"Oh, how rude of me, I almost forgot you were here," Sebastian grinned, "So, would you like me to come with you or not?"

Ciel rolled his eye, notably less effective when singular.

"I think I can handle him, Sebastian."

"I was actually referring to the _other_ 'him'."

At that, Ciel visibly blanched. Oh, he could handle that man on his own, no doubt. That wasn't to say he _wanted_ to, though.

"...Well, if you've got nothing better to do than follow me around then fine. You can come," Ciel relented, and his tone left no confusion over how lucky Sebastian was to be allowed to tag along. "You've still got your key to my apartment? Let yourself in tomorrow morning, and make some breakfast while you're at it."

With that, Ciel rose from his seat and strode out of the door, not waiting for an answer. It wasn't as though he needed an answer. Sebastian would do as he was told. He generally did.

Sebastian watched him go with that ever-present smirk playing around his lips. Yes, there was no doubt, he much preferred the younger and still breathing Phantomhive. If nothing else, the boy kept things interesting.

۞

Not awake for an hour and already Ciel knew it was going to be one of those days.

Typically, it was all Sebastian's fault. Honestly, Ciel had to marvel at his ability to surround himself with such infuriating people. He must be suicidal. There was no other explanation for all the people he saw on a semi-regular basis to be so stroke-inducing. Right now, however, Sebastian was ahead of the competition by miles.

Ciel had an alarm clock. Sure, he was a heavy sleeper and sometimes dozed on through its incessant trilling, but even then a firm shake would suffice to wake him.

Clearly, Sebastian did not agree.

Ciel knew the guy was nothing short of a sadist, but goddamn it, tossing a cat on a sleeping person's face was too much, even for him.

"Do stop pouting, Ciel. I have apologised."

And that apology was about as sincere as the sorry look on Sebastian's face.

"If you hadn't thrashed around quite so much, she probably wouldn't have scratched."

Oh, between hacking up a lung and trying to control his violent sneezing, Ciel had almost forgotten about the dashing array of angry red cuts he was now sporting.

"Well, look on the bright side. I'm sure just looking at your face will amuse him enough."

Why oh why had he not brought his gun. Nothing short of a bullet would wipe that smug look from the bastard's face.

The scenery flashing past slowly began to change from the urban scrawl of buildings and the uniformed masses to the green of fields and trees. The sky was an ominous grey, bringing with it a promise of gloom and rain. The journey was no longer smooth as the car left behind the sleek tarmac, running up the gravelled drive of Oakland Cemetery.

Sebastian pulled to a stop outside the door of the Funeral Home.

Ciel had a theory that the place was the sole constant in, if not the world, at least England. No matter how many years had passed since he'd last been there or how much the weather assaulted it, the building remained unchanged, as did its sole – _breathing, anyway –_ inhabitant.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, little Phantomhive?"

The voice coming from inside the coffin probably would have startled if not terrified any other patron. As it were, Ciel was just glad the person wasn't elbow-deep in man guts. Walking past the coffin, which was opening eerily slowly for effect, Ciel hopped up onto one of the many crates.

"Business, Mr. Undertaker, not pleasure."

"Always so _stiff,"_ the grey-haired man chuckled as he slid fully from his hiding place. As always, he was clad entirely in black, the only lick of colour coming from his ashen hair and starkly white complexion. His hair hung over his face, obscuring his eyes. Even to that day, Ciel had no idea what colour they were, or even if he had eyes at all. A thick, haggard scar trailed across his face like a cross and wound around his throat. He moved like smoke swirled.

If nothing else, he fit the role he played.

"He's here, I trust?" Ciel crossed one leg over the other, leaning back on his hands. He had that way about him, that silent strength, that dominated the room and everyone in it.

Undertaker gave a wheezy chortle.

"How bold. Accusing me of harbouring a felon. Do you have a warrant, Chief Inspector?"

Before Ciel could respond, Sebastian, who had been milling about the room and admiring Undertaker's newest equipment like a kid in a sweet shop, cut in, "Have you finished the autopsies on the last two victims, Mr. Undertaker?"

Undertaker beamed.

"Oh, yes. All done! It was like a puzzle, trying to put everything back in the right place. Would you like to see?" As always, Undertaker took to Sebastian like a bee to honey, a friendship born from mutual enthusiasm for all things gore.

"It'd be a pleasure." Sebastian grinned, following Undertaker as he floated down the stairs to the morgue. As he went, he gave Ciel a barely perceptible nod, and Ciel was out of the door like a shot.

۞

It didn't take long to find him. He wasn't predictable by any means, but he was foolishly sentimental to his core. Ciel was struck angered by his cheek; there he stood, out in the open, inviting Ciel to join him, so confident that he was untouchable by the law.

The thing that pissed Ciel off the most was that it wasn't a false confidence. They both knew Ciel wouldn't arrest him, couldn't arrest him.

It had been about a year since they'd last met face-to-face. Neither of them had changed much since then. His blond hair whipped around his face in the strong wind, his sky blue eyes fixated on the grave before him. He didn't immediately acknowledge Ciel's presence as he joined his side, too absorbed in whatever thoughts plagued him.

The grave was hardly worth such avid attention. For one, it was a simple wooden cross stuck into the ground. There was no name on it, no flowers or other tokens for the deceased. Then there was the fact that whoever lay rotting beneath their feet was not the person the blond was thinking of.

"He's not buried here, Alois." Ciel wasn't sure why he said it. It was hardly as though he was telling the other person something they didn't already know. Maybe it was the silence, too thick, too uncomfortable, too _foreign._

Alois was not a person silence suited.

The words had the desired effect, however, drawing Alois out of his thoughts. A soft smile was on his face, so at odds with their location and their situation.

"Don't be mean, Ciel. Let me pretend, 'kay?"

Ciel fell silent despite himself. He personally couldn't see the appeal; why pay tribute when the tribute was false? But then, Alois had always been a weird one. If it made him feel a fraction better then Ciel wasn't going to be the one to shatter the illusion.

They stood there in silence for what seemed like forever but what couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes before Alois slipped his hand into Ciel's and pulled him away. If it had been anyone else, Ciel would have lashed out, or at least manoeuvred it so that he was the one leading, but since it was him he let it be.

They weaved between headstones and memorials, straying further and further from the paved path, closer to the trees bordering the bone yard. The second they were hidden in the shade of the trees, Alois was on him, lips crashing against his, hands roaming his chest, body pushing his back against the trunk. A year's worth of pent-up lust seared between them, and it was enough that Ciel didn't even object to Alois taking momentary control. His mind was racing too much, too full of Alois' presence, his smell, his hands leaving a burning trail along his bare skin – _when had he undone his shirt?_ \- and he couldn't help the husky moan when Alois' teeth sank into the tender flesh of his neck. That ever-skilful tongue was quick to follow, running along the ridges his bite had left, soothing the aching skin.

Ciel's back slid down the tree and Alois followed him, not relenting in his desperation to touch and feel and make up for all the missed time. His shirt was falling off his shoulders, exposing even more skin for the blond to attack – because that's what this was, a full-frontal attack and Ciel was losing, losing himself to the sensations and that simply wouldn't do.

Alois straddled him, grinding his hips against Ciel's, letting out a shameless moan.

Which quickly became a grunt of pain when he was flung away.

"Honestly, there are animals with more self-control than you," Ciel sneered, relieved as his tone didn't betray just how tenuous the grip on his own control was, pulling his shirt back on.

Alois sat up with a sulky pout so out of place on a man of his age, gesturing to his crotch lewdly. "You can't get someone so excited then _stop._ It's been a whole year, Ciel! Y'never heard of blue balls?"

"What, your hands suddenly don't work?"

Alois huffed, "Oh, c'mon! Doing it yourself is nowhere near as fun. Don't be so stingy... unless, maybe you want to watch?" Pout made way for a wicked grin. "Cause that could be kind of hot."

Ciel resisted the urge to facepalm, instead changing the subject as quickly as he could. "You've been causing me a lot of trouble lately, brat. What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

The blond looked almost gleeful.

"I knew you'd recognise my handiwork," he sounded so proud, "I'm kind of like Batman, huh? Cleaning the streets of scum, the masked crusader of justice! ...well, without the mask, but you get the point. Anyway, I wanted to see you, and since you're married to the job these days it seemed the best way to get your attention."

Ciel looked at him blankly.

"Your idea of _justice_ is a bit backwards. And some people would just pick up the phone."

Alois' grin dimmed. "You wouldn't have picked up."

"...Of course not. But you could have tried, instead of jumping straight to manslaughter."

The little grin was still there, but it was more plastic than anything else now, tremulous as that little manic glint Ciel knew too well sparkled in Alois' eyes. He knew he didn't want to hear what Alois would say next but found himself reluctant to walk away.

Alois crawled towards him, craning his neck to meet Ciel's eye.

"I found them."

Ciel had suspected that was the case, the reason behind Alois' sudden boldness in his crimes. For years, Alois had fancied himself something of a vigilante, killing those that did things similar to what had been done to them, the three of them. He'd always been subtle – well, as subtle as Alois ever managed to be, anyway. So when stark messages started turning up at the crime scenes, in code to an extent but still enough to put Ciel on edge whenever he had to rush to find it, he knew something had changed in their game.

Cat and Mouse, to strip it to its simplest quality. Alois did bad things, criminal things. Ciel did good things – _no, not good, but not bad, he did grey things –_ and was the law. The law caught the criminals, but where was the fun in that? It was so... _vanilla._ So Ciel would chase, but never catch. Get close enough to nip at his criminal's heels then hang back, take a breather, long enough for him to get far enough away for the chase to start again.

But then the game changed. Alois changed it, no longer running, waiting for Ciel to catch up.

Alois had found them.

A knot formed in Ciel's stomach. For a second he thought he was going to be sick, and his revulsion at the mere thought of _them_ must have been clear on his face because Alois stood up, curled Ciel into his chest and hugged him so hard it hurt. Alois meant to comfort, but he didn't, he constricted, and right now Ciel needed air.

For the second time that day, for the second time since their first meeting in a year, Ciel pushed Alois away.

"Tell me where," Ciel ordered low beneath his breath, words a veritable growl.

Alois' lips curled up into a genuine smile, and sometimes it was his most genuine smiles that were the scariest.

"Let's go, Ciel. We waited ten years for this – _ten fucking years._ It's finally our turn!" he laughed, voice quivering almost hysterically. His hands fastened around Ciel's arms tightly, his eyes imploring.

Ciel's mind was racing. Alois knew, Alois knew where they were and he'd take him there, take him there and... and kill them, kill them liked he'd killed a dozen others, staining his hands so bloody red, hands that were wrapped around his arms right now. And then they'd be dead, dead and gone, and it would all be over, and that wasn't fair.

Ten years. Had it really been ten years? Ten years that they'd been playing this game, since the day Sebastian had found him bloodied and broken and, with that oh-so-wicked smile, offered him a position of power, handed Ciel the control he so desperately sought. And Alois, disappearing god knows where, reacting like Ciel was reacting but on the complete opposite end of the spectrum.

It could be over. Ciel could go with Alois, loop the noose around those animal's necks and pull the chair from beneath their feet, and it would be _over._

Alois faltered as Ciel wrenched his arms free from his grip, saccharine smile forming on his deceptively cherubic face.

"No? ...Mm. I get it. It's too easy, huh? But it's not, Ciel. Finding them was really hard, and sometimes I think you weren't even looking-"

"Of course I was!" Ciel snapped, incredulous.

Alois continued like he hadn't even heard, "And, y'know, killing isn't as easy as it seems. I mean, it can get awfully messy, and bone is _so hard_ to cut through, but it's okay! I'll show you how!"

As always, Alois completely missed the point.

"No, Alois. Not like this," Ciel said, resolute.

Alois' Stepford smile didn't waver this time. "I understand," he moved forward to once again embrace Ciel, "You don't have to get your hands dirty, Ciel. I'll take care of it. I'll take care of it all."

Before Ciel could push him away yet again, Alois pulled back and, without glancing behind, walked away. Ciel would have liked to think he didn't follow because that was the rule of their game, to let Alois get away time after time, but the little voice in his head refused to let him delude himself.

_You don't have to get your hands dirty, Ciel._

That wasn't it at all. He wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. He'd killed before – _hadn't he? He set the fire, the flames burned, the smell of melted skin hung in the air, but did he_ kill? – so that wasn't the issue at all.

Alois' way of doing things, killing them in cold blood and ending it all, just like that... _it wasn't fair._

۞

Ciel had missed a very important message.

Sebastian leant back in his chair, toying with one of the scrabble tiles. Well, it was only to be expected. The boy wasn't nearly as thorough as he should have been, preferring not to spend any extended amount of time with Undertaker and therefore missing out on vital information about the corpses. After all, finding a single scrabble piece in every corpse was something that Undertaker found interesting enough to omit from the official report and only share in exchange for a good knock knock joke.

Good thing Sebastian was both part-time Commissioner, part-time comedian. He'd amused Undertaker enough that the bizarre man had even let him take the evidence away.

He replaced the tile back on the desk, switching the order of the six letters, waiting for something resembling a word to appear. He wouldn't have reached his rank if he couldn't solve a simple anagram, after all, and within minutes he'd arranged the tiles into the correct order.

_RENBON._

He smirked, his finger moving to press the intercom button.

"Meirin. Send for Chief Inspector Phantomhive."

The fact that Ciel came promptly only solidified Sebastian's assumption that something was amiss with the boy. He never came as soon as he was called on principal, preferring to be fashionably late, knowing it annoyed the always punctual Sebastian.

"What?" the dark-haired boy said, letting the door swing shut behind him and sliding into his usual chair.

Ciel in one of his moods was always a lot of fun for Sebastian, so much easier to bait than usual. Sebastian generally didn't miss an opportunity to play with the boy, tease him until he turned that funny shade of red and stormed from the room like the child he pretended he wasn't. However, today Sebastian didn't make snarky comments about Ciel's time of the month or point out his rat-nest hair. There was a far more interesting game at hand, and he only hoped they weren't too late to play.

He didn't answer Ciel's question, simply gesturing at the tiles on the desk. As Ciel looked down, scanning the six letters with a furrowed brow, Sebastian waited for that spark of realisation. It came, the little colour in his face draining away.

"You may still be able to stop him. The workhouse isn't too far from here," Sebastian's hand dipped into his blazer pocket and he tossed the key at Ciel, "My car is faster than any in the compound."

Ciel fumbled the keys, picked them up from the floor, then was out of the door. Over his shoulder, he ordered, "Dispatch my men to arrest the traffickers once I've taken care of him," and disappeared from Sebastian's sight. His panic was clear, the fact that he didn't question Sebastian not going with him testament to that. Sebastian _never_ parted with his car and he especially never let _Ciel_ behind the wheel. Ciel could probably crash an armchair.

Meirin appeared at the office door, peeking shyly around, "Um, would you like me to send word to Chief Inspector Phantomhive's division?"

Sebastian leant back in his chair, toying with the little plastic R, and tossed her a smile. Predictably, her face flooded crimson.

"No, that's quite alright, Meirin. I'll take care of the matter myself. You can take your lunch now."

He gave Ciel a fifteen minute head-start before Sebastian grabbed his coat and left the building, alone. He sent out a text to Randall, _'Renbon workhouse. Phantomhive's got him. Needs back up',_ and hopped into a waiting car. He'd caught up and was tailing Ciel within the next ten minutes.

He really hoped he didn't miss the show. It had been ten years in the making, after all.

۞

The workhouse hadn't changed since then, or what was left of it anyway. Very little of the building was left standing, blackened by the flames, and Ciel could almost smell the burning as he ran up the hill towards it. Half the roof had caved in, but the other half of the building was still standing, and that was where he found them.

Alois was still in the same clothes as the previous day. He'd probably gone straight from his meeting with Ciel to finding the scum. Ciel was just grateful the blond had controlled himself enough to not kill them then and there, that he still had that flair for the dramatic and wanted them to die in the place it had all happened.

Alois didn't look up when Ciel strode into the room, wheezing after having ran from where the road ended. He just stared coldly down at the three men lying before him, sobbing and writhing against their bounds, and they seemed so much smaller than Ciel remembered. The fear those men had once inspired was no-where to be found, and he felt only disgust as he looked down on them.

The knife in Alois' hand glinted in the rays of light that broke through the decrepit roof. He spoke without looking away from the men, holding out his empty hand towards Ciel.

"How should we do it? I was thinking slit their throats, but that seems a bit too nice. I mean, it's pretty quick, right? They don't deserve quick," his expression grew dangerous, "Luka didn't get quick."

Ciel grabbed the proffered hand, squeezing it tightly and trying to get Alois to look at him. When Alois finally did, the look of cold calculation faded somewhat, though there was still a dangerous spark in his eyes.

"Not like this," Ciel spoke quickly, knowing his men were on their way and that Alois couldn't be here when they arrived, "You're right. This is too nice, Alois. Death is too _good_ for them."

Alois blinked owlishly, "Oh. You didn't come 'cause you changed your mind then."

"No. I came to stop you getting arrested, moron. Look, the police are on their way for these..." He'd almost said people, but he'd made the mistake of looking down at them, twisting in the dirt with tears and snot trailing down their faces, and he couldn't connect that word with them, "For them. They'll go to jail, Jim."

Alois jolted at the name, face crumpling, and he moaned softly, "Don't call me that."

"They'll go to jail, Jim. They'll be in cages, just like the ones they put us in. And they'll _rot_ there. You know what happens to men who fuck with kids in jail, right? I do, they get fucked with too, and they'll _suffer."_

Sebastian watched from the shade of a fallen beam, watched the smirk curve Ciel's lips as he spoke, the sadistic gleam in his single eye. His little protégé's voice shook with palpable satisfaction at the very thought, and Sebastian felt proud.

Ciel caught Alois' other hand, the knife cluttering to the floor, and pulled the blond towards him. The resolution in Alois was faltering, he could see. Ciel touched his forehead to Alois', his breath fanning over the other's face as he spoke.

"They'll suffer like they made us suffer. Me and you and Luka. And you know what? They'll _regret_ it!"

"No they won't. Scum like that don't regret anything," Alois cut in, voice trembling as Ciel took a hammer to ten years of determination. Ciel shook his head against Alois'.

"Yes, they will. I'll make sure they do. They'll regret every touch, every thought, every penny earned off us. They'll go mad in their cages, and I'll be dangling the key just out of their reach, every. goddamn. day."

And for a moment, Ciel thought he'd done it. Alois looked like he was being swayed, his mouth twisting into a little smile, before he simply said, "No."

It was Alois who pushed Ciel away this time, stooping down to reclaim his knife. Ciel scowled and Alois hated that it was him making Ciel unhappy now, but it just couldn't happen any other way. He knew what Ciel was thinking, the prison thing, but that was such a cop-out. Luka was _dead._ So why should those fuckers get to live? He wanted it, the satisfaction of tearing their last scream raggedly from their throats, of forcing the last breath from their broken chests, of feeling their blood cooling on his hands.

He turned the knife over in his hands, wished he'd brought something bigger. The police were coming, so he wouldn't be able to play like he'd hoped. It would have to be quick. Regardless, he'd make sure to give them pain that would last their entire afterlife.

Sebastian could see Ciel was done speaking, the resignation in his eye, because even though having them suffer the same humiliation they'd inflicted upon him would have felt good, having them dead was still an acceptable outcome. Now Ciel wasn't speaking any more, he would no longer incriminate himself, and Sebastian smirked to himself.

It would have been awfully boring if it had all ended so cleanly after all.

He pressed down on the button his finger had been hovering over for the past five minutes then pocketed his mobile. Within seconds, the run-down room was flooded with armed officers crying out for Alois to drop the weapon, to lie down on the floor with his arms behind his head.

But Sebastian wasn't watching that. His eyes were on Ciel, watching the initial shock, how it morphed into outraged disbelief then, as Sebastian sauntered from his hiding place, raw ferocity. But Ciel did not speak. He trembled with the effort to suppress his rage, his hands clenching into fists as Sebastian drew to his side and patted him on the shoulder.

"Good work, Commissioner," Randall said as his men dragged the traffickers from the room and cuffed a violently struggling Alois.

Sebastian shook his head, patting Ciel's shoulder once again, "Oh, all the credit goes to the Chief Inspector. He caught this one single-handed."

And Ciel stayed silent, seething, as Alois was dragged from the room screaming at Ciel, _"It's not fair! You cheated!"_

۞

Ciel threw everything that was remotely heavy, sharp or smashable at Sebastian when the Commissioner came swanning into his apartment that night, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Sebastian dodged out of the way of the rare item that actually stayed its course, but Ciel was a terrible aim, so mostly things just crashed to the carpet and it was just another hissy-fit. Before long, Ciel had exhausted himself, not to mention ran out of things to throw, and collapsed onto the sofa with a face like thunder.

" _Why?"_

Sebastian shrugged, moving around the room and beginning to pick up the impromptu projectiles.

"Because, Ciel, a game that always stays the same is no fun at all."

Ciel threw him the most fierce glare to date, and he actually looked ready to explode. Not in a metaphorical sense either. In the peeling-Chief-Inspector-of-the-walls sense.

"That was none of your business. I almost had him-"

"No, you were almost bystander to murder. What kind of officer of the law – no, what kind of guardian would I have been if I'd allowed that? Come, come. You're letting your emotions get the better of you. We can't be having that," Sebastian tutted as he put the books back on the shelf.

Ciel scowled once again, but this time it held more than simple annoyance. There was actually a hint of fear there, that Alois might actually be locked away, put back inside a cage even though Ciel had promised he would never let that happen. Sebastian was right, he _was_ letting his emotions get the better of him, but that was bound to happen when Alois was involved. Alois was the only real connection he had to emotions that weren't annoyance. Goddammit, he kind of loved the psychopath.

And he'd be damned if he was about to break that promise.

Ciel was pulled from his thoughts when Sebastian's hand rested over his, pushing something heavy and cold into his palm.

"I wanted to see how you'd act, once the game got mixed up a bit," Sebastian confessed with a grin, "You really mustn't be afraid to get your hands dirty, Ciel."

۞

There was never any question that Ciel would free him, Alois knew. Or, at least, he convinced himself that as he lay on the hard mattress and stared at the stone ceiling, trying to pretend he couldn't see the bars behind him. The Fear washed over him, as cold as ice water, and he shivered, cocooning himself tighter in the poor excuse for a blanket. He longed for those arms from before, the two warm bodies pressed flush against his that almost made the surrounding metal bearable. This time, he had no companions in his cage, and the only warmth offered was dependant on how tightly he could curl into a ball.

Ciel had warned him that the police were coming. He supposed a part of him had thought his sometimes-lover was bluffing, a ploy for Ciel to get his way. Well, he had his way now. The traffickers had been being hunted by police for a while now, so they'd been banged up instantly. Unfortunately, Alois was probably higher on the Wanted list than them, and bail simply wasn't an option.

Ciel had spoke of rotting in prison. Was he to rot too?

Ciel had spoke of what happened to men like the traffickers in prison. What happened to serial killers?

Alois choked on the sob trying to break free from his tightly closed lips, nose stinging as tears threatened. He was twenty-two years old now, but back in the cage, completely alone, he felt twelve once more.

He continued to choke on strangled sobs, coughing as his throat burned and eyes watered, but then the coughing turned more violent and he realised that maybe it had very little to do with crying. A smell wafted between the bars, thick and heavy on the air, more familiar than he dared remember.

And tears were forgotten, because Ciel was coming for him.

"Crying again?" the one-eyed man scoffed as he slid the key into the lock and pulled the bars to the side. No sooner had he done so was he tackled to the floor by Alois, the blond's arms locked tightly around his neck. Ciel indulged himself momentarily, returning the embrace for only a second before pulling Alois to his feet.

"There's no time," was all he said before Alois was being dragged along the suspiciously empty corridor. The smell of smoke grew stronger as they climbed stairs and skidded around corners. As they drew to the compound, the red glow became more obvious through the glass of passing doors.

No-one stopped them, because everyone had already evacuated the building. The flames only grew more fierce because Ciel had dismantled the fire alarm system, no shrieking cry permeating the air and no water spraying from overhead. By the time they sprinted into the large garage, the entire first floor of the building was consumed by flames, and Alois was essentially carrying a gasping Ciel.

Amidst his struggle for breath, Ciel pressed a set of car keys into Alois' hands and gestured to the car next to the one he was leaning against. Alois looked down at his escape ticket as Ciel sucked on his inhaler, and laughed humourlessly.

"I suppose you coming with me would be entirely out of the question?" he asked, the answer never in question.

"S-Someone – has to make sure – you don't get yourself locked up again," he panted, because they both knew Alois wouldn't quit. Those men had no doubt escaped in the chaos of the night, something Ciel couldn't really have avoided if he wanted Alois out, and Alois simply couldn't quit at the men being imprisoned. Ciel had tried, he really had, but Alois was resolute. The men had to suffer, and living was not an option.

Alois moved forward and caught Ciel's lips, chapped and cracking from the heat. It was a brief kiss, Ciel's breathing too laboured to last too long, and then Alois was in the car and Ciel was getting smaller in the rear view mirror.

Well, there would be kisses in the future. Real ones, this time. After all, round two had just begun.


End file.
